you were the fake and I was the fool
by hypotheticalfanfic
Summary: If Arthur was the type of person who felt emotions...but he's not. Sociopath-ish!Arthur x Eames. Part of the fakeverse series.


The elevator doors open, and Eames is leaning against mirrored walls and smiling, and if Arthur was the kind of person who fell in love he would probably be in love with this man. He would rush in, press his mouth to Eames's, tear open shirts and trousers and whisper declarations of love as they rose in the elevator. But he is not that type of person, and so instead Arthur steps into the elevator and pushes the "close doors" button, not yet selecting a floor.

"Mr. Eames." Arthur has mastered what Eames calls his "good" face, the bland sort of openness that lets him get what he needs and move on. He is skilled at it, and skilled at hiding the emptiness behind it, and so Arthur experiences a jolt of what he assumes must be surprise when it has no measurable effect on Eames. He really shouldn't be surprised, if that is what is making his usually static emotional state flicker to life for a moment, because Eames has never been fooled by Arthur about anything.

"Arthur, don't do that at me," waving his hand at Arthur's face as if to capture the expression — or lack thereof — in one vague movement. "Makes me think you hate me or something."

"I don't hate you, Eames." Arthur could almost feel confused, if he was the sort of person who felt things like confusion. Of course he does not _hate_ Eames. They have been fucking after most jobs for two years now, why would he hate Eames? Putting aside the fact that he does not hate anyone, why would he be fucking someone he hated? "Why would I fuck you if I hated you?" Eames leans his head back against the wall, his hair crumpling — Arthur might attempt to tease him about the cowlick that will develop in that spot after this — and lets out a low, breathless chuckle. Arthur can almost call what he is now feeling frustration. "What's so funny?"

"People who have emotions, Arthur," the spin on the words implying that Arthur is not one of those people, which of course he is, sort of, sometimes, "they don't always understand them. People," Eames searches the ceiling like an answer is written there, "sometimes they do things because it seems like the closest they'll get to doing what they want. D'you follow?"

Arthur presses the button for his floor and shakes his head. "No."

"Think about it; you'll work it out eventually." The cowlick is working its way free of Eames's hair. "Anyway, have I said hello yet? Hello, Arthur, I've missed you terribly."

—-

After, when they're sated and sweating and Eames is trying to pretend as if he is not nodding off the way he always does, Arthur turns to him. "I do feel things, you know, Eames." Eames's eyes widen and he comes mostly awake. Arthur thinks that Eames's expression is surprise, but cannot be sure. He tries to choose words to explain, because regardless of his other emotions or lack thereof, he has always been the kind of person who feels compelled to explain things. "They just seem…" Trails off. Traces a finger around Eames's lips.

This is the part Arthur most enjoys, when he no longer has to pretend to understand the emotions around him. Eames has never made him feel wrong, has always treated him like a good puzzle instead of a strange mistake. On the rare occasions other people have had an opportunity to see past Arthur's calm, when they have realized that there is not much else behind that facade, they have treated Arthur poorly, called him a freak or a sociopath or other things. Eames has never done that, and if Arthur was better at articulating what he thinks he feels, he would tell Eames how grateful…but Arthur is not good at emotions, or talking about them, and so instead he palms Eames's cheek in the hopes that the gesture says something on its own.

"I know, Arthur. I know you do." Eames pulls Arthur's hand flat to his mouth, presses a kiss to the palm, holds it there for a long moment.

"I don't hate you, Eames."

"I know that, pet."

They kiss then, long and slow and soft, and Arthur wishes again and again that he was more like Eames. Not in the messy sense, not in the forging, even, but in the deftness with emotion. Eames loves everyone, and spreads emotions that he has explained to Arthur include good cheer and flirtation and silliness, and Arthur can never quite catch the trick of it. Out of necessity and a natural inclination to perform well, Arthur has grown skilled at projecting frustration and competence, at appearing businesslike to a normal degree, but anything beyond that easy fraudulence escapes him, always has.

When Arthur and Eames work together, both are better at their jobs. Everyone in illegal dreamshare knows that. The reason is not just that Arthur bullies and nags and pushes Eames to his best and most technically correct work, as everyone in dreamshare assumes, but also that Eames coaches Arthur. Talks him through the emotional content of the case, tempers his factual reports with the human insight that would otherwise be lacking, distracts new people from Arthur's confusion at social cues. That partnership translates well to dream work, and even better to sex. And so, as a rule, they finish a job, split the earnings, spend a few days in a hotel, and split up until the next job.

Sometimes Arthur wishes he was the kind of person who could ask Eames to stay. Arthur's house is big enough for two, and his garage is big enough for a couple of extra cars, and he rather likes fucking Eames. And beyond the sex, Eames does make things easier for Arthur: explains things, rarely judges, often provokes the rare spark of emotion out of Arthur so that it almost seems like he's normal. Eames is funny, and handsome, and a good lover, and the closest thing Arthur has had to a friend since…ever, really.

But Arthur is not that type of person, and so he kisses Eames and they part, and Arthur goes home and feels the barest flicker of what he is sure Eames would call regret.


End file.
